Twisted Mumbles Poetryby jeseca Lowell

We try to mold ourselves into these frames But we spill overAnd we assume the spillage is what we should toss.Then I look at what's in the extraAnd I see the things that I'm trying to shave offAre the things that created what sits in this chair.I realize that some of my wreckage doesn't always appeal to the people around meBut at what point do we stop cutting off our own heels to fit a shoe?Sometimes I don't do the things that make me happyBecause someone might judge me for it.Sometimes I walk away when I want to sit downBecause I fear that I may not get back up.The older I get the more I become aware,Aware of these unnecessary knots I tie myself into.The more I understand sometimes you have to let the whales save themselves,Knowing there will always be that need within me to self sacrifice.I watch and I observe and I decide.I shove myself into this vision of what I want to be,Spilling myself all over the place.I am a perpetual wet floor signAnd I laugh at the amount of grace I will never haveBut I think I'm finally learning to embrace,Embrace that I will constantly battle myself,The me I think I am versus this me I want to beWith the me I never will be mocking from the sidelines, Stewing in the lovely extra that never will quite fit right.And then I sit back, let myself wash over me.I file all the negative away.Then I let them go.Maybe I just need a bigger frameBecause the leftovers are the most interesting parts of us.